


Handsy

by TuppingLiberty



Series: Tlib's Superstition Hockey Fanfics [1]
Category: Superstition Hockey
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, M/M, New Brunswick house, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Rookie Year, Rimming, Short Shorts, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: "the tiny rugby shorts make Jacks handsy as hell"This line haunted me, so I wrote it: Jacks and Luc, post Rookie year, summer, PWP, featuring Luc Chantal in tiny rugby shorts.





	Handsy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Split the D](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584769) by [Superstition_hockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey). 



> Inspiration picture: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/BqWdLNAYm2o/maxresdefault.jpg

Jacks is halfway through his annual Firefly summer rewatch when Luc flops down beside him. He’s sort of distracted - text convo with his publicist re: a charity event next week - but he throws an arm around Luc’s shoulders when Luc cuddles up next to him anyway. It’s too hot to cuddle, probably, but try telling Luc that. Besides, Jacks would rather be sweating than missing one of their precious few opportunities to cuddle given that they normally live across the country from each other.

_Why would I want anyone else, male or female, if I could be having the best sex I’ve ever had with the love of my life?_

Jacks can’t count how many times he’s brought those sweet words back to himself, and they drift through his mind now, so that he has to turn and brush a kiss over Luc’s sweaty forehead. He abruptly pauses, mid-brush, and stares at Luc’s legs. “What- what are you _wearing?”_  

Luc stretches his legs - fuck, they look _good-_ out to the coffee table and smiles up at Jacks from his shoulder. “New rugby gear; Rogue sent it.”

Jacks isn’t sure if his eyes are bulging out of his head or not. He’s seen Luc in less, of course he has. His boxer briefs are smaller than this, for one thing, not even counting all the times he’s seen Luc naked. But there’s something about the bright red shorts, how they’re loose, not binding, so he could just sneak his hand up-- And the innocence of them: they’re shorts, not underwear, and they’re athletic gear, not lingerie, but Jacks is suddenly, achingly hard.

He sees something glint in Luc’s eye, he thinks, but they both look back at the TV screen and lapse into silence.

For five minutes, anyway. Then Luc hooks one of his legs over Jacks', their bare calves resting against each other. His shorts sort of gape open, enough for Jacks to see that he’s decided to go sans boxer briefs this July afternoon. He looks up at Jacks and arches a brow - a dare.

With a small smirk, Jacks rests his hand on Luc’s knee and continues to watch Mal and Inara dance around a ballroom. He lets a minute pass, then another, as he slowly massages over Luc’s knee, like he’s doing it absently, like he’s actually spacing out watching TV, and not acutely aware of every single move Luc is making, the quickening of his breath. He’s pretty sure if he glanced down at Luc right now, Luc would be giving him _the eyes._

His fingers play over Luc’s knee, enjoying the texture of his leg hair, and slowly, so slowly that it could be interpreted as an accident, his fingers slide up Luc’s inner thigh. It flexes, and there’s no way, if Jacks wasn’t actually paying attention, that he wouldn’t feel that and glance down. But he continues to ignore Luc in favor of Firefly, and Luc continues to stay silent beside him.

Luc’s skin is warm over the strength of his thigh muscles. Now Jacks knows exactly what it feels like when Luc uses those thighs to fuck him, or wrapped around his waist as Jacks fucks him. Luc has beautiful legs; too bad, he thinks, that they play a winter sport.

The thought makes him smile, and that, apparently, is a signal Luc won’t pass up. He tugs on Jacks’ ear. “What?”

Jacks glances down, sees the flush of desire spread over Luc’s cheeks, and nearly stops it all right then to drag him to the bedroom. Except he’s having so much _fun._ He nods at the TV. “Wash. He’s funny.” It’s a stupid comment, and Luc sees right through it, but he gives Jacks’ a small grin and lays his head back down.

His fingers quest ever deeper, playing along the almost delicate skin of Luc’s inner thigh. Very little of Luc is soft, and sometimes Jacks wishes he were softer, only because he worries about Luc’s health, Luc’s mind. But here, just here, where his fingers are resting, where he can feel the twitch of muscles under skin, here Luc is just a little soft.

A quick glance tells him Luc is rock hard and pressed against the shorts, tenting them. Jacks’ cock is just as obvious, just as needy, but he’s in this now and Christ, he wants to finish it this way, too.

“My mom called to confirm the time for Saturday,” he murmurs. “Luc,” he says, when Luc doesn’t respond.

“Mmm?- Oh. Awesome, d’accord. Maman is making a cake.” Luc almost sounds sleepy, like a cat would if it had been forced to stop mid-purr to answer.

“I love your maman’s cake,” Jacks whispers, kissing Luc’s forehead.

His fingers caress along the crease between Luc’s leg and groin, and he hears Luc’s little gasp, a cute intake of breath, an almost moan.

But no, the actual moan comes a minute later, when Jacks slides his fingers over Luc’s perineum. _“Jacks.”_

“Yeah, bro?”

“I- I-” Luc turns, meets his eyes, like he’s going to protest, or push Jacks down and have his way with him, but then he takes a breath, and quiets. “Why are they fighting with swords? I thought this was sci-fi.”

“Asshole, you’ve watched this episode with me before.” As punishment, Jacks rubs at Luc’s perineum a little harder with his thumb, as one finger rubs lightly around Luc’s rim. Beneath him, Luc shivers and groans.

“Fuck- Jacks-”

Jacks looks down at him - he’s biting his lip, just a little, which is so fucking hot, and his pupils are blown wide, and there’s a dark spot on the rugby shorts now. Jacks arches a brow. “Yes?”

Luc’s eyes are boring into his. “You know I don’t get into your nerd shit.” He grins that winning Chantal shit-eating grin, and laughs, and Jacks can’t help but kiss him then. That statement is patently untrue: Luc thinks his nerdiness is cute, even if he’s a major shithead about it.

“Asshole.” _Screw it,_ Jacks thinks. He readjusts, pulling his hand out, swallowing Luc’s frustrated groan, and straddling him. In the next second, he’s rucking up Luc’s shirt to play his fingers over his stomach as they kiss. He loves to feel the muscles contract and quiver under his attention.

Luc is so sweet and pliant against him, all summer warm and soft sighs against his lips. Summer Luc. He lingers over Luc’s mouth, then drifts up to kiss the apple of his cheek, his nose, his brow. Luc laughs softly and threads his fingers through Jacks’ hair. “I want you in me,” he whispers into Jacks’ ear.

This is new, still, for them, but oh so fucking good. Jacks’ heart thuds against his ribcage as he strips Luc’s tank off, then pulls his own clothes off. Luc reaches around him to the lube on the coffee table - so they’ve been christening the new house a lot, okay? - then pushes it into Jacks’ hand.

Jacks raises an eyebrow. “You leaving the shorts on?”

“I don’t know, Jacks, am I leaving the shorts on?” Luc’s voice is full of teasing knowledge, that sly grin popping his lips up on the sides.

Jacks just growls, moving back so that Luc can kneel on the floor, his chest pressed to the couch cushions. Jacks kneels behind him, drinking in the sight. His ass cheeks peek out just a little under the shorts, and Jacks can’t help but reach out and caress over them. “I think maybe you should wear the shorts all the time.”

Luc looks over his shoulder, all come-hither. “Maybe. I think these ones might be ruined.”

“I’ll buy you more,” Jacks promises, before pulling the elastic down to frame Luc’s ass beautifully. He makes such a pretty picture that Jacks wants to eat him out, but he wants to sink inside him more, like, right _now,_ so he slicks up a finger and starts working him open. Luc is tight, incredibly so, and it still takes him some time to relax into it. Jacks likes that, likes that Luc looks to him for guidance here, although he knows that it’s not going to last; Luc will catch up fast enough.

“You’re so gorgeous, Chants,” he murmurs, pressing his his finger deep inside and stretching his rim. He’s generous with the lube, and Luc pushes back, needy. Jacks could probably watch this forever, watch Luc chase his fingers, pursue pleasure, find bliss.

There’s a steady string of _‘calisse’_ and _‘crisse’_ and _‘Jacks’_ and he almost laughs, hearing his name said like a Quebecois swear. He’s up to three fingers now, steadily pumping over Luc’s prostate, then pausing to make Luc work for it.

_You fuck everyone beauty-style, Chants._

He doesn’t think his words are any less true, now that he knows Luc loves him. Luc is an extremely unselfish lover, always has been. But he’s- sometimes Jacks likes to think- to think that Luc only gets _this_ way with him. Willing to let himself be pleasured, willing to let Jacks give and give and give until he busts apart. He’s okay with Jacks making the plays - and Jacks thinks that might be something he only does here, with his _husband._

“Oli, _pleeease.”_

Jacks does smile at the whine in Luc’s voice, and reaches down to slick up his own cock. He wraps his arm around Luc’s middle and begins to slide steadily inside. There’s the stiffening, but he waits, waits as Luc breaths through, as Luc lets him know when he’s ready to move again. “You’re doing so well, baby, you’re okay,” he keeps whispering, not even sure if Luc’s really listening to him. It’s just that Luc feels _so fucking good.  
_

Luc kneads his hands into the couch for leverage and arches back, and Jacks can’t help but watch himself thrust in and out of Luc’s ass, framed in red, watch the curve of Luc’s lower back as he meets him. They look beautiful together, Jacks decides. Better than any porn.

Luc's moaning, and Jacks' heart swells: Luc's lost to the pleasure, has given himself over completely, and Jacks' cherishes the gift. He smooths a hand up Luc's bare side and leans down to kiss him between the shoulder blades.

He comes stupidly fast when Luc does, squeezing all around him and muffling his shout in the couch cushion. A bead of sweat rolls down Luc’s back, and Jacks follows it down with his fingers, stroking Luc, feeling him quiver still. He reluctantly pulls out, then blinks at the growling possessive sensation in his chest when he sees some of his cum leak out.

Kneading over Luc’s ass, Jacks leans in and moves his mouth over his hole. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted his own cum. The payoff is a strangle, wrecked moan from Luc, and he thrusts back to meet Jacks’ tongue. He cleans him out, leans back to admire his handiwork, slaps Luc’s butt lightly and playfully, and pulls the shorts back up over his ass.

“They’re a dead loss, I think,” Luc slurs into the couch. “The shorts, I mean.”

Jacks maneuvers Luc up off his knees and pulls him into his lap. They’ll get cleaned up eventually, but for now, Jacks wants to savor languorous, sex-sated summer Luc. “Good thing we’re millionaires.”

Onscreen, River and Simon have been kidnapped. Luc sighs, and settles his head in the crook of Jacks’ neck.

**Author's Note:**

> :D I just love Oliver Jackson living his best life being real-married to the real love of his life for reals, y'all. All the feels. I also love Luc Chantal being just a little subby.
> 
> Thanks once again to the most awesome Superstition Hockey for these wonderful characters and this wonderful universe.


End file.
